The Face
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for 12.13, Family Feud. Enraged and hurting from Mary's declaration, where does love and comfort for the boys come from afterwards? Each other of course.
1. Part 1

_(((So I'm going to be as mellow as I can dealing with Mary since we'll be getting the rest of the story next week and in the promo the boys are obviously working with the British, seriously, they are way too good for Mary. First part is gonna be the boys with Mary, second part just some bromance ;). So here goes...)))_

THE FACE

Sam feels the way Dean tenses beside him and knows his brother's unerring instincts were right. Something was off with their mom. He can also hear Dean's teeth grinding against each other so he knows he's going to be doing the talking. He respects his brother; sometimes Dean's only form of self-control is forcing himself not to say a word.

Still it takes all the strength in Sam's body not to yell 'bullshit' at their mother when she gives the half assed excuse of 'we're family' and he can practically feel Dean rolling his eyes thinking...

 _That's cute, mom._

Sam's coming to understand that Mary Winchester has no concept of family at all. Not a Winchester concept at least. They're both left there listening to her because they can't really do anything else, she didn't know them, she didn't know what they had done to people who had done much less. She didn't know what happened to people who betrayed them back in the apocalypse days...the British, their mom didn't know what they were getting into, didn't realize the borderline sociopathic obsession they harbored for their 'family'.

And that terrified Sam. Because honestly, he couldn't have predicted his next move let alone Dean's.

His brother is a ball of furry and hurt and disbelief beside him and Sam really should tell Mary to shut the hell up before Dean snaps and does something they'll all regret. God, before he himself does something they'll all regret.

"What the British men of letters are doing, it's a better way."

And then Dean does it. And god, Sam would kiss him but for well, obvious reasons.

His brother grabs one of the beers their mom brought, pushes the cap off with his thumb, turns his back and walks away while taking a long drag from it. Despite the situation Sam watches Mary's face with a small satisfied smirk, she's appears to be entirely outraged that Dean has turned his back on her mid explanation.

He's aware that Dean appears to be the head of their operation and he's okay with that, really Dean is the leader. The last calls are made by Dean and Sam usually follows through...though his brother would never acknowledge that.

So Mary gives Sam an exasperated look and hurries after Dean. Sam follows, he's got to see how this turns out, knows from the tight pull of his older brother's shoulders ahead that Mary has no idea what she's in for. She thinks she's about to get yelled at, thinks she's about to get thrown out of the bunker but no, she doesn't know Dean like Sam does.

She doesn't know Dean. She knows him as a son, partly she knows him as a brother from watching him with Sam. Mostly she knows a little kid. She does not know the warrior, the demon...the righteous man. And that's it isn't it? The reason why people look to Dean and feel like they have to explain themselves to him...because he's just _so good_. He can make 'the face' because he's never done something like that, he's never completely betrayed his loved ones, he's done nothing but love and protect and kill in the name of what's right.

Dean is that man. Has been since John put Sam in his arms and told him to run...since the very first time he saved his little brother's life. Since then Dean has been unerringly doing the right thing for Sam, for other innocents like him. He's never changed, his foundation is the same then, now, in the future. Was the same in heaven and in hell...in purgatory. Sure those places twisted him, made him into something darker then his true form but deep down Dean never stopped being Sam's brother, fighting for the innocent.

And that was what made him the righteous man.

And that was what Mary didn't understand, couldn't, probably wouldn't ever. Dean was infinitely good. Something her, John or Sam would never understand, or be. Because it was them, the three people closest to Dean, the ones who should have always been there for him and yet weren't ever, they were the ones who created this amazing person...this 'being' who was better than them, who was better than anyone.

And Sam strove every day to make it up to his brother, to live up to Dean's example...they were the Winchester's, the way may be bloody and paved with violence, they may have to eat some humble pie, work with Crowley and Rowena with whom they were sworn enemies...but they did what was right.

Dean stops in the kitchen, sets the beer down on the counter. Mary stops facing him and Sam slides into a seat at the table watching his brother carefully, ready to back him but prepared to play intermediator too. Inside he's thinking after their mom leaves, maybe he and Dean should have a throwing competition.

Dean runs a hand over his mouth in an effort to calm himself, Mary watches him expectantly but Sam can tell she's getting fed up with Dean's silence. Sam sighs and meets Dean's eyes when he looks at him, tilts his head in a question and a go ahead. _I'm with you, no matter what you say._ And he's confused because he sees an apology in his brother's eyes. May sighs, watches them in their millisecond interaction.

Knows she's no match for them, for their bond. Knows deep down she'll never be as good as them. Knows that she and her sons will never get back to the little bit of trust and easy understanding they had before, knows she's officially destroyed their slim chance of really becoming a family. Knows that she has crossed some invisible line, a line that was all too clear to her sons. One that wasn't clear to her, and she knows now it's because really, she has no idea what family means.

Dean is still silent, looking at her with that face so she turns to Sam.

"Look, I know what they did to you was wrong and I'm sorry..."

"No."

And that's what breaks Dean's control, Sam could have told Mary that. Not a smart move to belittle the wrongs done to Dean Winchester's little brother.

Mary's head jerks to look back at Dean, and her oldest takes a step towards her, a hand unfisting long enough to point at her. Sam can see how intimidated she is as she attempts to meet his gaze.

"No." Dean repeats. "You can go behind our backs, you can disappoint every expectation we ever had but you can't do that...you can't lessen the wrong done to him...you can't hide from the fact that instead of working with us to better the world, you went to people who wanted us dead."

"Dean, I wasn't saying it didn't matter..."

"That's exactly what you were saying mom, that's exactly what you've been saying every time you work with them...that you don't care they tortured you sons, you don't care that your only family won't have anything to do with them...and why are you confessing now?" He shrugs sending her a cold smile, "It's because they told you it wouldn't work like this, isn't it? That this won't work...this...playing hookie with both of us.

"And you can't even choose." The cold disdain on Dean's face hurts Sam and it isn't even leveled at him.

Mary stands speechless as Dean takes another step towards her.

"Have you ever been tortured, mom?" He asks in a sickly sweet tone, and Sam swallows because he knows this bit of Dean, he knows that syrupy voice...the one that uses innocent sweet sounding words to cut and teach mental lessons harder than actual physical torture.

"Hmm?" He adds, waiting for her answer.

"N, no." She answers around a thick swallow of her own.

"No." He says again, agreeing. "We have been through things you can't even imagine...we have _done_ things you can't even imagine." He lets that sink in. "And that's why I get it why you like the brits, I do, you don't get your hands dirty if you do it their way. But you went behind your 'family's' back," he throws the word back at her filled with cold poison. "Behind their backs with the same people who tortured your baby...so let me ask you. What kind of mom does that make you? How dirty are you now?"

Even the air is sucked from Sam's lungs at the words. He watches Mary stand frozen looking into Dean's eyes because he's standing towering over her now, her mouth open and closing like a fish. She's realizing she's made the ultimate error...she's made Dean Winchester stand up for his little brother. She's never met and will never again meet such a formidable force.

"But here's the thing mom..." he starts again. "...we're going to give you and the British men of letters another chance." Mary looks at him sharply and Sam does too. Wants to see where this is going, because this is the man Sam was talking about earlier. This wall of righteous anger and cold calculation, standing up for others while making sure justice is handed out.

Dean breaks his icy glare to glance at Sam and when he sees his brother is still there beside him, he turns back to their mother focused again.

"We're gonna give them another chance, not because we have to, or we want to, or we trust you, not even because we love you...but because we're bigger then all this." He shrugs, relaxes and takes a step back from her. Glances to Sam, motions between him and his brother.

"We are bigger then you and your lies."

"Thank you." Is all Mary manages to choke out.

Dean raises his eyebrows, "DO NOT thank me." He scoffs, "It isn't for you."

His eyes land on Sam and they're in understanding with each other in that moment. And Sam shivers with the love there burning mixed with the cold cunning. Dean and Sam both know alike...this is the cruelest revenge they could extract from the British Men of Letters or their mother. Sam didn't place much faith in the Bible but the 'heaping burning coals on your enemies head' bit he could totally get behind because it was damned efficient.

He can see it written all over Dean's face, this was for him. This was their chance to avenge Sam's torture both psychologically and physically. And well, if it heaped burning coals on their mom's head at the same time, they weren't complaining. Even without words they feel the flame of satisfaction flare up between them.

It doesn't make them feel like the best of people. But hell they weren't, they were the Winchester's; Hell's master torturer, the Boy King. And as Dean leaves the room eyes on Sam, both feel a cold thrill up their spines.

It's a high that masks the pain and shock of being so cruelly betrayed...it's a drug they've dealt in before. Retribution covering the pain of the damage already done. They try not to think about what they will have to deal with when the high fades.

When Dean's alone in his room looking over the dashed hopes of a life with their mom in his mind's eye. When Sam is gazing into a cold cup of coffee desperately trying to figure out what kind of mother doesn't even love her child enough to care if they were tortured or not? When they're both left wondering, _what did we do to deserve this?_

He glances to his mom when Dean's gone and stands himself to take his leave. He just can't. And he's got nothing to say that Dean hadn't covered.

"Sam, I'm..."

He holds up his hand with a small smile on his face. "Don't mom. It's been just me and Dean for a long time, it doesn't really matter."

"Yes it does, I..."

"You're right." Sam interrupts, "It does matter...to you. Because it says a lot of about you, mom. But you don't have to apologize to me, it's always just been Dean and me. Dean taught me to walk, he taught me to read, he coached me through my first crush, he taught me about sex...he took the GED so I would have the chance at a full scholarship to somewhere insane like Stanford...every moment of everyday of his life has been about protecting me, he gave his life for mine over and over again. So that's why it doesn't really matter to me, I'll always have him..."

He stops in the door frame and looks back at her with a cold smirk, "And that's also why he gets to make 'the face' at anyone who questions that."

...tbc

Hope you guys enjoy! Please leave me a review?! ;):)


	2. Part 2

Part 2.

When Sam gets in the shower he's assuming their mom has taken the obvious and smart next move and left the bunker. Get out of their home and hair and be grateful she still had her life. He thinks he hears the bunker door shut through the streaming water but he's not sure. Even then his soul rests easier thinking of the bunker as safe again.

He turns his face into the nearly scalding stream of water and lets it wash away everything. There was no need to think of their mom and her world halting confession. There was no reason to think of the loss of even the ghost of her motherly love and regard...bottom line nothing had changed. He and Dean faced a world of people who wanted to screw them over same as always.

Except now that included their mom. That really sucked. And it was really hard not to think about. Fingers run through wet hair and massage slick shampoo into it, eyes coast open and closed lazily...Sam lets the familiar rhythmic actions soothe his raging mind. By the time his shower is over he's managed to calm himself.

Mary was wrong, but she hadn't physically hurt anyone and that was good, he and Dean would be alright, they always were. It might take time and it might take a whole lot of hard work rebuilding self confidence and the ability to TRUST ANYONE EVER AGAIN...but come on they'd done that before right?

They'd done it just a couple of months ago when she'd turned her back on them and left them, and their home...Sam sighs towel drying his hair. This was definitely not going to be easy. And if it wasn't going to be easy for him he can't imagine what it was going to be like for Dean.

Dean was angry. More angry than Sam himself, and Sam was pretty angry. That was right, that was expected. Dean felt everything more violently than Sam. He just did. Call it a gift or a curse, it was just the way things were. And most of the time Dean needed space, needed understanding. He needed to be the forceful anger while Sam was the considerate thinker. Other times Dean needed to be stood up for, times Dean would let those he loves walk over him.

That was where Sam came in.

Because no one was walking over his brother on his watch. And Sam knew that's exactly what would happen with Mary if he didn't step in. It was something so endearing and frustrating about Dean. He would put up with anything for family, he would turn a blind eye for those he bestowed his earth shattering weight of love and devotion but you couldn't have paid him to care two cents about himself.

Mary didn't even have to be there to do it. Her words and actions would crush Dean in her absence. Her doubt and disdain would chip away at Dean's faith in himself and their calling...he would question if he'd wronged Sam somehow. If Sam truly wanted to be there with him, in his life, on this ride with him.

That was the one thing that never ceased to break Sam's heart. And every time he'd gather the shatters while he talked Dean down from his emotional suicidal edge and unknowingly Dean would piece him back together as he smiles through his doubts and fears and whispers...

 _...just me and you against the world, Sammy._

So Sam knows his work is more than likely cut out for him as he turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He can imagine Dean mirroring him, can see the tight but slumped posture of Dean's shoulders the way he dresses in layers when he's feeling off. The wool socks he'd pad around the bunker in, the thermal he'd wear under his button up. Dean wasn't aware of it, but he would surround himself with _good safe_ things when his life went south.

Sam pulls on sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt, some socks. Pulls his sheets back so his bed is ready when he comes, throws the dirty clothes and towels from his bag and bathroom out into the hallway where Dean would pick them up eventually. And then he stands.

Sam, tall, fully grown, a dark silhouette against the light leaking through his doorway head down, listening. The quiet, deceitful peace of the bunker all around him and his sigh is the only sound that breaks the silence. A hand on the back of his neck, eyes closed as he tries to let the muscles already tensing again after his shower relax, and thinks of his brother somewhere trying to cope in his own faulty manner.

The manner in which Sam usually has to come and save him from the foreseeable outcome of depression and angry pent up violence.

That's when the silence shatters around him.

 _Bang. Bang. Bang._

Sam jumps with the sound and before fear wraps itself tight around his heart he's halfway down the hall yelling;

"Dean?!"

This had not been a foreseeable outcome.

His brother's room is empty and Sam is panting standing in the library when the next trio of shots sound loud and echoing in the bunker's stillness.

 _Bang. Bang. Bang._

Sam pushes shaky fingers through his hair and jogs down the hall in the cool darkness and slips into the shooting range. Through the dark door he can make out Dean's silhouette under one of the big lights, gun raised, hand so steady it scares Sam sometimes, face hard and ears unprotected. His brother alive and well, clad in predicted layers and woolen socks.

He lets out a sigh and leans in the door frame, lets arms cross over his chest where his heart is still skipping, scared stiff. Dean studies his previous shots and their met targets silently, his lips pressed into something between an intimidating line and, an unintended, adorable pout.

Sam clears his throat.

And regrets it instantly.

Dean whips around with deadly quickness, gun leveled at Sam's head with confident aim. Dean's eyes hard but aflame green embers, breaths calm and even but still causing a rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Sam spreads his hands out in front of him and meets that gaze. Knows somewhere in his mind Dean was making things right, was expelling the rage and hurt. That sometimes in the helplessness of other people hurting you, you have to make sure that what little power you had you still do, in fact, have.

And for Dean that was being a hunter. A master marksman, a man among men...a warrior who could take down anyone who went up against him. And that's who fights for dominance as Dean looks at him, stares into his eyes without flinching. The predator fights for the lead while Sam's brother of course, pushes him down and under and away. Dean's body language softens and the gun falls.

"Jesus, Sammy...warn a guy, could have hurt you." He says with a sigh turning away from the door and looking back to his target.

"But you didn't." Sam says with a fond smile and laugh. _Of course you didn't._ "How about you warn me? Bout scared me to death when I heard the shots."

"Ah yeah, sorry." Dean mumbles distractedly, as the gun levels again and Sam hurries to cover his ears as Dean lets off three more shots, all meeting close together in the target's head.

 _Bangbangbang..._

 _Good shot._ Sam thinks, letting himself straighten and coming to stand beside his brother as Dean slides the clip from his colt and begins to reload. He watches as Dean unerringly readies the bullets and shoves the clip back into his gun, the focus on his face nearly intimidating even to Sam. Mouth turned down in a grim line, eyes aflame but focused and downcast watching his well practiced movements.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks, and Dean lets another bullet fly and Sam flinches.

"I think," Dean says, looking down at his gun and smiling with grim satisfaction, aiming again, "It's what highschool girls..." and _bang_ he shoots again, "call venting."

Sam breaks and smiles then, his ears are ringing and he can only imagine what shape Dean's must be in.

 _This is good though,_ he tells himself, _this is much better than throwing things._

And wow, Dean was actually coping better than Sam.

"So you're coping?" Sam asks, a smirk on his face and folding his arms.

Dean sends him a look, "Would you like me to shoot your face instead?"

Sam laughs and takes a step back holding up both hands. "I'm not questioning, in fact this is a great idea, I'm going to get my colt."

It's Dean's turn to smirk as he holds Sam's gun up hanging from his pointer finger, "One step ahead of you, Sam."

"You got..." Sam starts and Dean just holds his hand out offering Sam two green foam rounds; ear protection. Sam just huffs a laugh and takes them.

"Two steps ahead of you." Dean adds drily.

"You should have some too." Sam tells Dean, slipping the clip from his own gun and looking it over.

His older brother rolls his eyes but sticks a twin pair to Sam's in his ears, sending him a smirk before spreading his legs, rooting his feet to the floor and steadily taking aim again, focused back into his own little world. Sam takes it for what it is and does the same the vibrations of his brother's shots beside him enough comfort for now.

Here it is controlled. He stands in one room. Before him is one objective, hit the target. In his hand is something he knows he is efficient with, here he's confident and sure...he's in control of where the bullet lands, of what it hits, and what gets hit. Maybe Dean was a little better at coping than he thought.

Sam only notices because he's slowly relaxing too, but the tension is bleeding from Dean, he can tell even from twelve feet away. His stance is weakening, his arms easier and less strategic. Oh. he hits the target as surely as every, but now Dean is all ease and confidence like he is when on a hunt. Sam feels the final string of terrible, pent up posturing and tension from the conversation with their mom pop between them and a sigh falls from Dean's lips. His chest fully falling in a complete exhale.

He sets the gun down on the counter, reaches up and takes the ear protectors out, throws them down too. Sends Sam a blinding smile. Sam follows his example and sighs himself, reveling in the feeling of 'better' throughout his whole body. His hands are warm with the heat of the firearm, and he's shaking just a bit from the adrenaline. But it's good, good adrenaline...another kind of high.

He glances to Dean who wipes his hands on his pants and then turns towards Sam. Sam's half scared he's just going to walk away.

"Want a drink?" He asks, is confused when Dean just kind of smirks.

"A lot more than a drink." And his brother walks to the next section over and shows Sam the liquor decanter and two whiskey glasses he'd hidden there.

 _Three steps ahead of you, Sammy._

"I was thinking more like, 'comfortably drunk'."

He jumps up on the ledge and folds his socked feet up under him Indian style. Sets the glasses on the counter and pulls the lid from the crystal decanter. Watches as the amber liquid gushes in, sparkles and glistens. Sam leans over and places his elbows on the ledge, tucking hair behind his ear.

Takes the glass Dean pushes towards him with an inclination of his head. Takes a mouthful of the liquid warmth in his mouth, savors the taste of it and the burn of it on the sensitive skin of his mouth before swallowing and allowing the fire of it to sweep up from his belly to his throat. Hums with the satisfaction of it.

Dean smiles at him and tosses his head back too, Sam watches him do the same...watches him treasure this very little thing, life had taught them long and hard that it was the small things they had to hold on to. Dean's eyes light when the full taste and heat of the liquor ignites his insides and Sam laughs a little.

"You know eventually, the good stuff is gonna run out." He says as Dean, brings his head back down.

"Shut your mouth." Dean spits back easily, and Sam smiles wolfishly.

"You set this up." He says back, meaning he knew Dean had purposefully designed for them to drink together tonight and Sam was going to tease his older brother about it.

Dean sobers immediately, swirls the whiskey around in his glass, watching it circle. "There's no reason for us to hide from each other just because we lost her."

"Dean, we haven't lost her..."

"We lost her a long time ago, Sam, we lost her November 2, 1983...and that's the truth, whether we like it or not. And I'm not gonna let us rake ourselves over the coals because we're not good enough for her when we've been good enough for ourselves, each other, and the entire world for years and years."

He sighs and looks down into his glass again, taking another drink. "She's got a second chance Sam, and she's got to choose how she's gonna use it." He shrugs and gives Sam a watery smile.

"I don't even know how many chances I've had, but after Chuck and Amara left I was given another one and I'm not about to use it kissing someone's ass who tried to kill you, I'm just not. Not for anyone, not even for her."

"I know." Sam says, looking down, clearing his throat.

Dean looks at him, without walls, without reservation. Sam is swallowed up and drowned in the entirety of Dean Winchester reflected there. His big brother rarely shows the fierceness of his character that is burning for eternity under the facade of this carefree, dorky, violent man. But Sam is transfixed as the essence of Dean is laid bare for him and Dean meets his eyes straight on, doesn't try to hide.

"Listen," he says, "When they took you they would have killed you. And Sammy, you would have welcomed it..." Sam shakes his head but Dean stops him. "It's no use little brother," he nearly whispers with a soft smile on his face.

"I know...I know you gave up the minute I was gone and, this might be way over the chick flick line, but you were glad and relieved. And they were even happier to do _it_ for you..."

Sam looks down, hides from the pain and sincerity of his brother's gaze and voice, hides from the smarting of burning tears in his eyes as he remembers the complete, crushing feeling of loneliness and desolation when he realized he was truly, finally, no long a little brother. Hides from the memories of the way he welcomed the pain and the torture and smiled at the thought of death, of oblivion, heaven or hell, anything better then this life alone.

A rough calloused hand finds a place under Sam's chin and gently pulls upwards until Sam is looking back into the green pools of his brother's eyes. Dean's head cocks to the side, such sweet anguish on his face, fondness making his eyes twinkle through the anger making them glow.

"And _that_ is unforgivable Sammy, _that_ is unforgivable."

 _They would have done it for you Sammy, and that is unforgivable..._

And the tender, oh so good, relieved, _right_ ache in Sam's very much alive heart is worth every single moment of torture. That feeling of being needed, of being wanted...of his life counting so much that this amazing human being right here was buzzing, alive and angry with the thought of it being taken away, even if Dean was no longer in the world to be a part of that life.

"Dean," He starts, feels like his brother is owed an explanation on the subject of his death wish.

"I'm not judging you Sam, hell, probably wouldn't have done anything different myself." He throws back his head, drinking the rest of the liquor in his glass. He sighs when he swallows it and winces with the burn.

"Thanks Dean." Sam says softly. And he doesn't have to say for what, Dean knows.

Thanks for saving me Dean, thanks for caring enough to save me...thank you for loving me enough to hate the people who hurt me. Thank you for loving me so completely that you know living in a world without me would be meaningless, and thank you for realizing you can't ask me to do that very same thing...

"So the hell with mom, and to hell with the British Men Of Letters..." Dean smirks, picks up an empty shell from the counter and throws it onto the floor, watching it clatter and roll to a stop.

"...long live you and me, Sammy. Long live just you and me against the world."

the end.

if you read and like and love please leave me a REVIEW!?

all done:):)

I adored how this tag turned out, and adored the episode that gave me the opportunity. See you guys soon;);)


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